


Colorblind

by AlasPoorYorcake



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Papyrus (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Sans (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Soulmate Colorblindness, Tags May Change, eventual sans/gaster soulmates, something's wrong with sans, their soulmates are not even specifically mentioned, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorYorcake/pseuds/AlasPoorYorcake
Summary: For some reason, Sans is very intent on making sure everybody thinks he's colorblind. Papyrus knows better. Soulmate-colorblind AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did I revise this at all? Nope. Will I? Nope. Will we ever meet Paps' soulmate? Eh, probably not. 
> 
> Enjoy.

* * *

It’s not like it bothers you.

You’re certain it bothers Sans, when he slips up. His eyelights contract, flicker in-out-in, his smile going rictus and wide in fear for a split moment as he searches your expression out of the corner of his eyesockets. There’s a desperation in him, a trembling fear, that he normally contains seamlessly, if not for these small moments.

You clear your expression of any ties to your emotions, and turn to pick up the blue pressure plate Sans has indicated to on the ground.

It’s covered in white snow, and you pay no attention to the temperature as you brush it off, keeping your back carefully turned to Sans. He’s watching you, watching your red scarf billow in a nonexistent wind, watching your white shoulder pads bounce in time with the movements of your arms.

It’s times like these you have to remind yourself that you wouldn’t know what it’s like to see through his eyesockets. You’ve been able to see colors since you were a babybones walking out of school on the first day. 

The day you shed your colorblindness is a distant and fuzzy memory, one that you don’t think about often. You had come home from school late in the afternoon, walking back to Snowdin with your brother, your gloved hand clasped comfortably in his bare one, arm swinging enthusiastically back and forth. You were only just out of earshot of your friends when you boasted how it was only the first day and you’d already learned to how to see the world in color.

You remember the way your brother’s hand tightened around yours, the tension rippling up your arm and prompting you to frown up at him for hurting you.

More than anything else, you remember that look on his face.

Back then, you were unfamiliar with it. You didn’t understand why it looked so difficult for Sans to ease back into his casual grin and let you watch tv with him on the couch. Back then, you simply curled up next to Sans and let him stroke your skull back and forth until you feel asleep to the drone of tv static.

Nowadays, though you don’t quite understand, you’ve become familiar with the routine. After particularly bad timelines, and even after some of the better ones, you can recognize the expression staining his features. You clear your day without a second thought, bring all the blankets in the house to the couch, set the tv up to a channel with nothing but static, curl up with your brother, and rub circles into his back until he either falls asleep or settles into that groggy state between sleep and wakefulness. And then you wait.

You’ll do whatever it takes to wipe that expression off your brother’s face.

In the present moment, you turn to find Sans’ eyelights pinned to the snow, his hands stuffed in his pockets as though they could hide the trembling you know is there. It’s the way his grin has unclenched, his skull hanging limp off of his slouching spine, the way that he stares into the snow as if the indent at his feet is caked with your dust, that you know you will have to do some damage control tonight.

You take a deep breath, put on your best winning smile and tell him that you appreciate him coming out to watch you recalibrate your puzzles.

Something in your soul begins to unwind as he smiles back and says something that thoughtlessly feeds into your ego. You’re not quite capable of taking it to heart at the moment. He’s right, the Great Papyrus is certainly beyond meticulous and undoubtedly spectacular at tending to his puzzles. But Sans’ younger brother, Pap, is concerned about more important things at the moment.

Funnily enough, after that one night long, long ago, when you divulged to him that you remember every timeline, each reset, Sans has become infuriatingly more adept at keeping things from you. Almost as if exposing his secret has spurred him to keep everything else even closer to his ribcage. It’s terrible and unhealthy and awfully infuriating, of course, but there’s a glimmer of pride in your soul, to see your older brother is still capable of dedicating himself to something so intently.

Plus, it’s not like he knows how many of his secrets you already know. As different as the two of you are, your brother is an open book to you. 

Of course, there is always the chance that he knows that, and is simply playing along with your expectations of him.

You stop that line of thought as soon as it appears. You know where it leads, and it’s not anywhere you want to go at the moment. Shaking yourself, you suggest to Sans that the two of you take the afternoon off as a reward for all of your hard work. He glances oddly at you for a split moment, then chuckles gruffly, shrugging.

As soon as you fall into step with Sans, headed back home, your thoughts begin to wander. 

Reset after reset, timeline after timeline, you never seem to run out of things to do or say or think. It’s the only autonomy you really have anymore, and at this point, you’ll take what you can get. Which means you have all the time in the world to figure out the mysteries Sans hides, and he has all the time in the world to figure out yours.

Despite how many resets you’ve had to figure it out, however, you still have no idea why Sans feels he needs to hide the fact that he sees color. 

It’s a common occurrence in the Underground, to see color— in such a secluded space under a mountain, there can only be so many monsters alive at a time. A limited number of monsters to be soulmates with, and to meet. It’s practically inevitable for a colorblind monster walking through the Underground to have one’s world flood awash with hues of green, blue, white, orange, red, gold, brown…

Your gaze flicks up to the picturesque scene ahead, and your thoughts are blindsided by a crash of emotion— appreciation for the glistening cavern around you. Snowdin may not be home to the most scenic of views, but it doesn’t bear the bland monochrome of New Home, and that’s more than enough to take in. You glance around the dense forestry and the path ahead, and wonder just how much monsters without their soulmates are missing out on.

Do they see the glimmering flecks of snow crystallizing into ice on the tips of the pine needles on the trees in Snowdin? Do they catch each and every glint of light reflecting off of the cave’s humid stalactites, creating the illusion of falling stars as drops of water filter down into the slick mud of Waterfall? Can they see the ripples of the air as the heat waves bounding upward from Hotland’s lava displaces the very air around them?

You glance sideways and down at Sans. You’ve never lost hope, in all the time that you’ve spent Underground, or in these time loops. You’ve come close, certainly, but every time, you’ve had Sans there to remind you of what’s really important. In some way, you hope you’re doing the same for him.

You will forever be grateful that Sans was careful, as you were growing up, to give you as much as he could. You had no significant traumas, no debilitating disorders, no acquired disabilities. Other monsters aren’t as fortunate in childhood— you learned that lesson quite well as a babybones, going to school with monsters who could not understand spoken language, monsters with horrible home lives, monsters who were strong in spite of every odd against their success. 

When you learned of how Undyne had really lost her eye, during a cave-in that also killed her parents when she was just a child, you couldn’t express to Sans just how grateful you were to him for caring for you all these years. Sans always encouraged you to be the best you could be, nothing more and nothing less, and you’re thoroughly convinced he’s the reason you’ve grown up so fortunate.

That means there are times, late at night, when you stare up at the ceiling of your deadly-silent room from your racecar bed, and paralyze yourself with your own thoughts. 

You’ve never talked with Sans about what it was like before you had come along. Whether Sans had ever lived with more than 1 HP. And you always loop back around to the one conclusion that makes your soul ache and your bones weak.

Growing up, you had Sans. And though you’ve never spoken about it, you know that growing up, Sans had no one.

In the present moment, Sans senses your gaze on him. He looks up at you, and you can see how his gaze hitches on the vertebrae of your neck for the briefest moment before meeting your eyelights. There’s a sudden pressure in the back of your eyesockets, and you’re about to reach down to take his hand in yours, when there’s a vibration at your hip. 

Sans’ gaze turns curious, the moment broken as the chiptune ringtone you reserve for Undyne sounds, and you scrabble to pick up the call on the second ring.

The call is over before you know it— Undyne is rarely anything but blunt and to-the-point— and Sans asks you what’s up. His voice is stale and terse, and you try not to think yours sounds the same as you reply.

Alphys needs some guinea pigs for a new invention she thinks you could incorporate into a puzzle. Undyne wants to do Alphys a favor (adorable as those two are, dancing around each other, it’s very odd to be flung back and forth between timelines where they’re in a relationship and timelines where they never got the chance, and something in your soul curdles at the wistful notion of attending a wedding on the Surface). It’s three days until the human exits the Ruins, and two days before Alphys puts the finishing touches on her color-tile puzzle. And Undyne knows you’re not colorblind.

As soon as the words pass your teeth, Sans’ canned response is being returned. After so many times playing the same routine over and over again, you wonder how Sans still thinks you can’t recognize when he’s speaking by rote, when he’s faking his emotions. But the thought is dismissed as easily as it comes, in favor of a worse realization.

How many times have you abandoned Sans at this point in the timeline, to make sure Alphys’ puzzle is ready for when the human comes along? How many times have you forced Sans to sit alone at home and face whatever conflict he has with not being colorblind?

How many times might he have instead gone to Grillby’s behind your back, like he always does when faced with the lies he feeds you?

In a spur of the moment decision, you invite him to come to test out the machine with you.

You seem to catch him off guard with that. A spark of surprise colors his eyelights, and they swing to the side to avoid your gaze. It’s painfully obvious that he knows what you’re trying to do— you’re not being subtle about it, after all— but it takes him a moment to process it. Between the two of you, going against the script is always an opportunity to leap at. But you’ve never pushed this particular issue, never prodded at his supposed colorblindness. Maybe it’s time you addressed it.

He seems to be thinking something along the same lines. Or maybe he’s hoping it’ll quell your curiosity once and for all. You can’t be sure. Either way, he shrugs and plasters on a fake grin, and says why not. You wince at the pain straining his expression, and try not to regret your decision.

Despite your hesitancy towards Sans’ so-called shortcuts, you don’t protest as he pulls you down by the arm and hooks his elbow through yours.

(He doesn’t know, but you’ve seen him take shortcuts with the human. You’ve seen their queasiness whenever they land, because Sans refuses to touch them more than a simple hand-hold requires. Sans insists on taking your elbow because it’s smoother, but he’ll never tell you as much. You let him have it. Not all of his secrets need to be picked apart to his face.)

In the flicker of an eyelight, you’re gone. It’s indescribable, the trip through Sans’ shortcuts, but only because thinking too hard about the experience is too akin to reliving it, and you’d really rather not when you can help it. Skeletons may not be capable of nausea, but no monster can enjoy that reality-warping sensation. 

(You also know that Sans isn’t immune to the feeling himself; when Sans shortcuts somewhere by himself, he always takes a moment to himself to shake out whatever feeling it leaves in his marrow.)

Now, in front of the door to Alphys’ lab, you shake off the prickling feeling of Hotland’s temperature sinking into your bones. You spare Sans a cursory glance, then step inside the air conditioned lab and brace yourself for the noise.

The lab has always felt oddly loud to you. Of course, every place is noisy compared to the sweet, muffled quiet of your room— even the long, empty pathways leading to and from different parts of the Underground have tickled your senses with some sort of melody, melodies you know Sans hates when you mention— but Alphys’ lab is so bright and sharp and technological in a way even your expertise with electronic puzzles will never help you understand. It makes you uncomfortable just thinking about it.

(Sans has a similar sort of hesitation to come near the place, though for different reasons— knowing what lies in the floors beneath this one, you don’t blame him for wanting a moment alone to collect himself. You know he brings Alphys dog food nearly every time loop, but she’s always insisted that Sans has never gone to the lower levels, ever. You don’t know why he’s so averse to the amalgamates, even after all this time, but you suppose you’ve never shaken the feeling of unease while being around them, either.)

Undyne is the first to catch sight of you. She’s mid-way through a mess of colored tiles already, presumably testing that they still work. With an intense whoop, she jumps straight onto a line of blue tiles, the puddle splash very nearly drenching the front of Alphys’ lab coat. You can’t help but grin, wide and genuine, at the sight of your friends. 

(You’ve stopped trying to keep track at this point, but you’re fairly certain one or both of them had died in the last timeline.)

Alphys greets you with a wave, and Undyne invites you for a swim in the puddles— but then the attention is drawn to the door, as Sans steps through with a casual salute.

As soon as you turn to look at Alphys, you know Sans has her fooled. Undyne too, by the way her gills flatten in confusion. Not one to beat around the bush, Undyne very bluntly asks why Sans would be concerning himself with Alphys’ invention when the stout skeleton is colorblind. 

Alphys flaps her hands nervously as if to get her to shut up, and Sans’ posture stiffens fractionally. You make sure to beat your brother to the punch. He’s here by your request, after all. 

You’re sure to emphasize to the two women that you simply didn’t want to leave him out of the discovery process.

Undyne still looks a bit bemused, but you know Alphys, who has conversed with Sans about scientific things you don’t understand before, can take Sans’ scientific curiosity as plausible. She smiles somewhat anxiously and pushes her spectacles up her snout, before delving into the tile mechanics without any more preamble. You make a show of nodding and making enthusiastic exclamations at the explanations you’ve already heard countless times before, but you keep an extra eyelight on Sans. A few spare glances to Undyne shows you’re not the only one keeping watch.

Not long after that, you’re put to work shoving tiles into workable puzzle options with Alphys taking notes, while Sans and Undyne test out the rest of the tiles, making sure they all function as they’re supposed to. You can’t quite keep an eye on Sans and focus on the puzzles at the same time, but Alphys is considerate and doesn’t mention whenever you seem to stare off into space as Sans watches Undyne test out the harmful tiles from a distance.

You’re startled out of your bones when Alphys addresses you in a quiet tone and asks about Sans’ HP. 

She’s being considerate about it, of course, but in an instant you feel ages of reset-paranoia pierce your soul— the frantic voice in your skull insisting you shouldn’t change anything, don’t affect anything in a significant way, keep things the same and maybe the human will get bored, don’t mess with the timeline, don’t provoke the resets, don’t provoke the human, don’t tell anyone anything—

You’re quick to shut down that line of thinking, but even so, the sentiment lingers, putting you on edge. Unbidden, your thoughts backslide to the ache that has suddenly rekindled in your soul, crying to be released. An ache that has been there longer than the resets.

You’ve known all your life that your brother has problems you can’t solve, problems you don’t understand. You’ve known all your life that Sans needs help. Help you cannot give him. And more than anything, more than the stopping of the resets, more than the happy ending, more than the human finally finding their mercy… 

You wish more than anything that you could find someone to help him.

Genius as she is, Alphys takes your startled silence exactly for what it is— indecision. In the same soothing, stuttering voice she uses to calm Undyne the Undying in her last moments, Alphys tells you she’s never seen a monster with so little hope. That she wants to help Sans, if she can. That she knows what it’s like to be at a low point, and to want to Fall Down.

Your phalanges are still wrapped around a pink-colored tile, and you place it down carefully in the mechanism, tentatively letting your expression betray your unease. It’s not like you don’t know of the timelines where Alphys doesn’t make it out, but… you can’t help the cynical worm in your skull, threading beads of apprehension into your mind.

It’s moments like these where you can’t help but wonder if monsterkind truly is as compassionate as it seems, or if there’s this niggling sensation in the back of everyone’s minds that hint at the events that resets have wiped away. In the best ending they’ve gotten so far, you’ve seen the looks your friends give Sans. You’ve seen the concern they flash you and him, as though you two would be most affected by the Underground’s hope of seeing the Surface being dashed. And perhaps you are— the timelines where you come closest to a happy ending are the most painful to see come to an end. 

To know what could have been, and what horrors could be to come… you wonder yourself, each time, if Sans’ hope can endure another happy ending just out of reach.

And maybe you’re not alone in that thought. Maybe, after each reset, small things like that linger in each monster’s mind, festering in the subconscious and presenting in situations like these. Alphys and Sans knew each other for a while before the human fell down— even before Flowey wreaked havoc on the Underground. But you can’t remember her _ ever _ showing enough concern for Sans to come to _ you _about it.

Abandoning your runaway thoughts, you make sure your voice is steady and gentle and out of Sans’ hearing as you tell Alphys that’s just how Sans has always been. That he’s always had 1 HP, that he’s always been the same skeleton he is now.

And, though a bit stretched, it’s still the truth. You’ve never known Sans to have an HP higher than one. And perhaps the resets have changed your big brother, but traumatic as it’s been… he’s still the same caring, lazy, pun-loving big brother you’ve always known, just with a different mindset for how the world works, and a different way of coping with his problems. You don’t doubt you yourself have changed in similar ways over time.

To her credit, Alphys takes the news with a contemplative frown and nothing more. She flashes you a nervous smile, and a soft gaze, then returns to her clipboard to scribble down a few equations. You continue with your puzzle-making, rearranging the tiles like it’s second-nature. A few more resets and it probably will be.

That thought shouldn’t be as flippant as it is. It really should affect him, the shit they’re being put through.

But a glance to Sans, currently immersed in conversation with an increasingly confused Undyne as he explains the tile colors all wrong with a few fish puns thrown in just to irritate her, you can’t help but feel lighthearted about the whole situation. Sure, it’s literal hell going through this, but if Sans of all monsters can find humor in the day-to-day, there’s no reason to bog anyone down with bad news. Especially not yourself.

At last, you finish your last arrangement and step back to admire your work. Padding closer to you, Sans catches your prideful gaze and nudges you on the hip with a grin, remarking on how you always manage to make puzzle-making look effortless. You can’t help but roll your eyelights, amused despite the implication of dozens and dozens of secret resets to hone your craft.

It’s really not your fault you’ve had years down here, practicing the same puzzles over and over again. Why shouldn’t you take pride in your craft, in spite— no, _ because of— _how important it is to maintaining the timelines’ consistency?

Alphys and Undyne are suitably impressed as well— as they always are— yet with Sans in company, you suddenly feel yourself emboldened by the praise. It doesn’t completely dampen your dread at what will inevitably come next, but it’s enough to keep your resolve when Alphys asks for a volunteer to try out the puzzle first.

Immediately, Undyne is reluctant to participate. You laugh, as you always do, and insist that she will be able to make it through the puzzle without a hitch— she is the Captain of the Guard, after all! Of course, unable to deny the unspoken challenge in your encouragement, she sets herself up at the beginning of the puzzle and waits for Alphys to randomize it to any one of the arrangements you had laid out.

You’re not surprised when you recognize the arrangement as the one Undyne has always been challenged with for every reset in the past. It’s not challenging to you, having both created it and watched her solve it too many times to count, but Undyne still has to take her time in solving it, balancing her brutish nature of barrelling through every possible route regardless of potential harm, and the captain in her wanting to strategize which route would be the most efficient. It ends up being almost a comedy of errors, as she visibly switches between both attitudes back and forth over and over.

When she reaches the end, it’s with a triumphant cry and a summoning of magical spears that very nearly destroys the machine she conquered. After Undyne, Alphys takes a turn, mostly due to the jeering and encouragement from everyone else. She’s certainly more methodical, and doesn’t hurt herself at all, though it takes her a very long time to think through each route. By the end, she’s shaking with nerves but looks more confident in herself than you’ve ever seen, at least before the human gets to Hotland in the better timelines. You, Sans, and Undyne all shower her with applause and praise, and she turns very, very red, though her smile is broad and happy.

You go next, of course, walking straight through the puzzle with no fear of making a mistake. In another timeline, you might’ve made a show of thinking about where to go, but Sans was right— why pretend when it really is effortless for you at this point? May as well make the resets work to your favor. And so there’s a hearty helping of awe and praise when you strut to the end without as much as a dent in your HP or your stride.

That’s it for the calibration of the puzzle, and after a few minutes of friendly chatting and celebratory juice packets, Undyne starts to get a bit antsy. The first time around (so, so long ago, you can barely remember it), you’d been completely oblivious to her antics, but after so many resets, you know she’s aching for a bit of time alone with Alphys, to congratulate her on yet another astounding accomplishment. 

Sans must simply be better at reading social cues than you are, because it’s the first time he’s been in this situation, and he picks up on it at once. He’s half-way through making an excuse to leave when you pipe up. The interruption obviously startles him— he must have thought you were on the same page as him. 

But then you suggest Sans take a spin on the puzzle before you two leave, and the atmosphere in the room plummets.

Following the stunned silence, Alphys is the first to rush to Sans’ defense, assuring him that it’s calibrated enough, and while it could help, he doesn’t need to do it if he doesn’t want to and it might be better for him not to due to his horrifically low—

She shuts up after that, but a moment later Undyne barrels straight through the taboo with her two cents about how stupid it would be, given that the puzzle could potentially kill him. Even then, he’d probably just get stuck because he’s colorblind, and it wouldn’t be worth it to have to pull him out of there just for the shiggles.

You say nothing in your defense, merely observing Sans as he stares you down. You keep your gaze gentle and open, trying not to let any other emotions show through. You did essentially just confess to knowing one of his most closely hidden secrets, after all— that he’s not completely colorblind like he wants everybody to believe. But you don’t stand down, leaving the offer open. In his eyelights, you see that he knows you won’t back down. His jacket pockets begin to rattle quietly, and his eyelights slowly begin to contract.

With the softest smile you can manage, you kneel down to your brother’s height and put your gloved hands on his shoulders. His jacket is old and ratty, but the fabric softener you wash it with the night after every reset has made it nearly silky to the touch.

In one swift movement, you unwrap your scarf from around your neck and tie it around his. As soon as he comprehends what you’re doing, his eyelights are blown wide, an involuntary breath stuttering between his teeth. You pull him close, resting the top of his skull under your chin, and envelop him in the strongest hug you’ve ever given him.

“I believe in you,” you tell him.

After a long moment, he nods.

You pull away from him and grin widely. His eyelights shrink back to their normal size and slide to the edge of his eyesockets. You stand up straight and egg him on, fetching the controller for the machine and setting it to random. He takes his place at the front of the puzzle.

Undyne and Alphys finally catch on to the fact that Sans is going through with something potentially life-threatening that _ you _ of all people goaded him into doing. But with the lackadaisical grin mirrored on both of the skeleton brother’s faces, they’re visibly torn. 

If Sans dies, Undyne suddenly butts in, none of us are gonna forgive ourselves. 

You turn to her, falling into a seriousness you only show in the timelines you become king, and ask her if she trusts you. She reels back, whether because of the obvious change in tone of her best friend or because of the nature of the question or simply out of offense, you don’t know. But after a moment, she huffs frustratedly, mutters something about suicidal maniacs, spares Sans an unidentifiable glance, then nods.

Alphys whimpers something along the lines of not being able to look and covers her eyes.

At the other side of the room, Sans chuckles, telling you this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.

You nod, laughing. It probably is.

He says if he dies, it’ll be two entire days until you can get to the human to reset. You’ve never spent that much time with a dead brother; Sans never dies before you do. Is that really a risk you’re willing to take?

You shake your head solemnly. There’s no risk. “I believe in you.”

By this point, Undyne and Alphys probably think you’re insane. You can sense them behind you, debating whether or not to intervene. But you can’t send them away— you need them here, as witnesses. Because you know Sans won’t fail. And he needs them to see him succeed. He needs to see someone other than you put their faith in him. 

Even if it’s gone by the next reset, he needs to see that he is deserving of the care others feel for him.

You randomize the machine, and after a moment it lands on a puzzle you recognize. There was, perhaps, a sliver of hope that it’d land on the pink bridge— the simplest puzzle, with no potential for harm— but it seems the universe wants Sans to have the chance to prove himself. For once, you can’t disagree with it.

Then, with a glance down at the red scarf around his neck, Sans takes a step directly forward. It’s a pink tile under his fuzzy slippers, completely safe. There’s two yellow tiles to the sides and a blue one just up ahead. You feel your nerves start to dance in your marrow, but your confidence in your brother keeps your stance still. Sans isn’t moving ahead, simply staring at the tiles spread out beyond him. He’s taking his time, assessing each one as best he can.

He half-stumbles forward onto the blue platform, wincing at his dampening slippers. You can’t help but laugh, and he shoots you a glare. He’s normally so deft on his feet, loathe to move more than he has to outside of battle, so watching his reluctant steps in and out of the blue tile, shaking out his slippers, is more than entertaining. He’s on another pink tile this time, looking ahead and trying to calculate which path to take.

(You don’t fail to notice every time he glances down at your scarf around his neck. He’s using it as a reference, glancing at the similarly colored red tiles with a resolve you haven’t seen from him in a long time.) 

(You couldn’t be prouder.)

Sans ends up taking even longer than Alphys did, though he never backtracks like her. He keeps each move methodical, slips sideways and forward and diagonal with casual confidence. Once he makes it halfway through, Undyne stop gaping like a fish, takes Alphys’ hands off of her snout, and starts cheering him on. Sans physically jolts at the burst of noise, nearly losing his balance, and Alphys hurriedly joins in, despite her anxiety-exacerbated stutter. You laugh lightheartedly and do the same, making sure your voice is heard over top of the chorus of encouragement.

From that point on, Sans’ movements are markedly more sure, and some of the tension you hadn’t even realized was in his shoulders begins to dissolve. He keeps it casual and smooth, making his journey look reminiscent of your earlier success. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch him think and act with such fluidity. Not for the first time, you wonder what your older brother could accomplish if he truly applied himself.

You’re wrenched out of your thoughts just in time— Sans is nearly to the end of the whole puzzle when he freezes. Instinctively, you feel yourself tense in response, inspecting the tiles closely.

He’s standing on an orange tile. The next row is made entirely out of blue tiles, except for the one directly in front of Sans— a pink tile. By all logic, he shouldn’t struggle with the decision— he passed the same pattern a few rows ago. Undyne is quick to point this out, which you know only makes Sans hesitate further.

Before you can even acknowledge the urge, you squash any notion of giving him a hint. This is Sans’ obstacle to overcome, not yours. You know in your marrow that he can handle himself— this is about making sure _ he _ knows you have faith in him. Oddly enough, Undyne and Alphys seem to understand that as well, and seem intent on offering only more encouragement the longer that Sans hesitates. Your eyelights linger on them for a moment, touched. Then you turn back to Sans and join in with the cheers.

It’s then that Sans does something you never thought you’d see him do. He looks down at the tiles in front of him with fluttering eyelids, memorizing what they look like. Then, still standing, he closes his eyes, tilts his face to the ceiling, and breathes.

He doesn’t move for a long moment, simply standing in place and breathing. Existing.

_ He’s trusting himself. _

You barely feel your voice falter and break as you suddenly force every ounce of your soul into shouting all of your support at your brother. You can’t even hear Alphys and Undyne’s boosted encouragement as your own soul rattles in your ribcage hard enough to shake your limbs and propel your voice louder and louder through the air.

Sans, his eyes still closed, lifts one foot and brings it down onto the pink tile.

Immediately, the room’s walls shudder with the force of the raucous cheering from two of the loudest and one of the quietest monsters in the Underground. You rush past Undyne picking Alphys up at the waist in a victory twirl, and meet your brother at the edge of the puzzle, where you pull him into the tightest hug you’ve probably ever given him.

Presumably still stunned from his accomplishment, Sans freezes in your grip for a moment before slowly melting into the hug. You laugh as quietly as you can to mask the sob stuck in your throat, and Sans— god, Sans, he notices, because of course he does. He hugs you that much tighter, and between the folds of your own scarf around his neck, you hear a quiet _ thanks, bro _.

Your voice is still shaking when you tell him you didn’t doubt his abilities for a second. He starts shaking himself when you tell him you’re so, incredibly proud of him. He chuckles raggedly into your battle body, and you pretend to ignore the growing wet spot near your right shoulder pad. You begin rub circles into his back, more than relieved at how he falls lax through the motions.

After a minute, he peers over your shoulder and you feel his grin tighten. Alphys and Undyne are behind you now, you can feel their presences, feel their relieved smiles on your back. Sans grunts a little embarrassedly, asking why they’re so happy all of a sudden.

You, of course, know what’s coming. As soon as you peel yourself away from Sans, Undyne is on top of you, forgoing her spears in favor of good old, personal fists to give you the beat down. Any other time you’d be trying to get her to stop, but right now you just take the hits with a few laughs and say yes, Captain, I promise not to do any such thing ever again, Captain, could you please stop hitting me?

A glance to Sans sees him giving Alphys a knowing smile. You’re certain Sans has her worst fate in mind, timelines where she can’t deal with the loss of Undyne or Mettaton. Hell, even thinking about what would have happened had Undyne never met her. But now, in this moment, Sans doesn’t try to extend the lesson to her— he just smiles that damned smile and cracks some overused pun about being colorblind.

When you think about it, you have no doubt Alphys’ colorblindness wasn’t the only reason for her suicidal tendencies, back then. You wouldn’t know for sure— in fact, Sans might— but the thing about being colorblind, you have come to understand, is that it’s never a reason to stop, or to give up. Once you meet your soulmate, your world is dipped in color forever. Regardless if you stay with your biological soulmate or find someone else to spend your life with. Being colorblind… it’s just a reason to keep living. To see what will come next.

In their particular reset-hell, you don’t doubt it’s one of the only things that keeps Sans by his side.

You’re so, so grateful.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts with a pointed look from Sans. It’s been fun, he says to the women in the room, but there’s business in Snowdin to attend to.

You nod enthusiastically, assured by the casual calmness in Sans’ voice. It’s a few more stern talking-to’s and baffled exclamations of awe before they’re finally let outside of the lab. One, two, three steps into Hotland, Sans pulls you down by the hand and hooks your elbow in his.

Funnily enough, in that one instant before he shortcuts, you swear you catch Sans looking up at you with a type of smile you haven’t seen on his face in years.

You smile back.

Then the world blinks, and you’re gone.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Approximately two and a half hours past midnight, you sit up straight in your racecar bed, fling your lanky legs over the edge of your mattress, and stare at the jolly roger on the flag hanging on your wall.

Your thoughts won’t stop. It’s just one of those nights.

The flag billows quietly in a nonexistent breeze, similar to the one that catches on your scarf. You don’t know where the errant draft comes from, but you also know it only picks up when you’re around, and only on soft fabrics like the flag. Sans thinks the skull-and-crossbones pattern is a weird and grotesque addition to your room, but then again, he’s the only other monster who’s seen you decapitated in the bad runs. You don’t mind the jolly roger that much— it looks cool, and gives your action figures a dazzling backdrop, at least from where you’re sitting.

Nights in Snowdin aren’t very interesting. They never have been. And you’ve never been one for sleeping— Sans has always hoarded his naps, but you’ve never felt the need for them— so nights are mainly a time for thinking. Inevitably come times like tonight, when the thinking is too much.

You run a quick laundry list of things you could do around the house without disturbing Sans’ beauty sleep. Your room is already clean, but you have no doubt the living room could use a little dressing up. You haven’t leapt up to the balcony outside in ages, but it doesn’t start gathering snow and debris until further into the timeline. There was to be  _ something _ to lose yourself in. 

Finally, you rise to your feet, an antsy anticipation growing in your boots as you decide on giving the kitchen a full-blown deep clean.

You’re tip-toeing about half-way down the stairs when you realize there was no point in being quiet at all. Sans is sitting on the lumpy couch in front of the tv, watching static buzz across the screen. With the overhead lights off, the only things your eyelights can really see at the moment is the light pooling from the tv static and Sans’ eyelights, wide and fuzzy in the darkness.

You clench the handrail of the staircase once, then twice to alleviate the concern sneaking up your vertebrae. “...Brother? I didn’t know you were up.”

Sans’ eyelights, adrift in the air like islands of light in a sea of black, bob up and down slowly, still transfixed on the static on the tv. The sound is pulled down low, presumably in consideration for you. And now that your eyelights are starting to adjust to the contrast in lighting, you see the lone, thin blanket your older brother has curled himself into.

Before you know it, you’re heading back upstairs and returning with a huge conglomeration of blankets bundled in your arms. He doesn’t say a word, not even as you begin methodically folding the cloth and place each strip in a particular place just-so, to create a field of cushioned softness around both of you. You try not to think about how Sans understands, wordlessly, that this routine is just as comforting for you as the rest of it is for him.

Finally, you’ve created a familiar nest on the couch, where you curl up next to Sans, pulling his skull against your ribcage and wrapping an arm protectively against his midsection. You can feel the faint hum of his soul pulse through his shirt and against your forearm, and you suspect Sans feels the tightness in your chest loosen in tandem.

Eyesockets unblinking, Sans stares into the static. You reach for the remote as quietly as you can to pull up the volume. The louder the white noise, the further Sans relaxes against you. Slowly, you rub small circles into the side of his ribcage. Gently, his eyesockets fall half-lidded, though his eyelights stay unfocused and fuzzy.

He really should have called you downstairs sooner, if he knew it was going to be one of those nights. You’d been fairly certain, after the events of the day, that there wouldn’t be much more ruminating on his part. You’d gone upstairs with the fleeting thought that if he needed you, he’d come get you. But after all this time, your brother still finds ways to surprise you.

(Still finds ways to push you away.)

There’s no point in saying anything now, of course. Beyond the fact that you’re never sure if Sans is all there when he gets like this, conversations like that had become stale after the first few shared resets. The timeline had already established your every action and every word. What was the point of arguing with Sans, of pushing for direct action, when nowadays the most effective way to get him to listen was to whittle him down bit by bit until he relented?

You briefly turn that thought over in your head, noting how it pulls at something undefinable in your ribcage. As ruthlessly as you can, you repeat the thought over and over until it doesn’t evoke any emotion from you at all.

The resets have changed you both. You  _ know.  _ But you’re both adapting.

Sans shifts in your grip, startling you from your thoughts. But he’s just readjusting himself, lolling his head back to see the screen better. You watch his movements— slow and fluid but without that stability you know he tethers himself to when he’s not clasped in your embrace. If not for the pronounced bags under his eyes and your (admittedly underhanded) deal with Grillby, you’d think he hasn’t been staring at the television all night, but rather wasting the hours away drinking at the bar.

Such a funny phrase,  _ wasting hours _ . As if you could make any real use out of your time down here without linear progression. Though you can’t really blame your brother for continuously wanting to get sloshed. While Sans prefers to live his life smothered in dissociative fits of drunkenness and periodic naps, you’ve learned to hone your hyperfocus on things you used to enjoy, blocking the rest of the world out as you suck each bit of happiness and nostalgia you can out of the enjoyable memories you used to have.

You hate this. You hate when your bad nights coincide with Sans’ bad nights. You hate how much you think, how much Sans  _ doesn’t _ . You know he’s the indulgent, hyperactive thinker on normal days, and you’re the one making sure your hands are busy to distract yourself. You hate this stupid role reversal because in the end it’s just one more thing you can’t control and you  _ hate _ feeling helpless.

It’s the reason why, even when Sans begs and begs and begs you not to, you tell the human they can do better. You spare them. Because you can’t control what they do, but you can certainly control how you handle it. You can control yourself, you know you can, and sometimes that’s the only thing you have left so you have to seize it with everything you’ve got. Sans may hate you for it but you need that control, so  _ why can’t you just control your thoughts? _

You must have reacted to your own agitation, because in that moment, Sans tears his gaze away from the static and looks up at you with eyelights just a bit sharper than they were before. And you hate the relief that blossoms in your soul, because you know that for Sans, these nights are a reprieve from himself he rarely gets. You want to have you brother here with you, in the present moment, alert and aware, but you don’t want him to break, either.

“pap,” Sans’ voice is low and gruff from disuse, but you can still pick out the vulnerability bubbling at its surface. “when’d you figure it out?”

You don’t have to think at all to know he’s referring to not being colorblind— but worse than that, you don’t have to think to hear what Sans really means:  _ when did i fuck up? when did i slip up and break the illusion?  _ Your soul gets this odd constricting sensation, and you look up into the static to avoid your brother’s gaze. He’s too close to you not to see you struggle with the words, but your pride denies the moment anyway.

“Find out about what?” you say, not because you don’t know, but because you want to hear the words out loud, from Sans. So much of the communication between you two is in your heads, now, and even though it’s easier that way, you still hate yourself for longing for something different.

He knows what you’re doing, of course. Even in this addled state he’s not stupid (never been stupid, he’s the smartest monster you know, he just doesn’t try anymore, and it’s a  _ damn _ shame), but for once he doesn’t glare at you or scoff or chuckle. He just blinks so passively up at you, his expression blank, the static roaring in your head.

“i can’t see  _ all  _ the colors,” Sans says after a moment, and though it’s not a full confession, you know it’s as good as you’re going to get with a brother as stubborn as you’ve got. He turns back to the static, and a hitch you’ve never heard in his voice is pulled straight from his soul, wrenching you out of yourself for a brief moment. “just certain colors, at certain times.”

Despite yourself, you’re nearly stunned silent as the implication hits you. It makes sense. His sporadic slip-ups, and subsequent ignorance, like he can’t make up his mind on which lie to maintain. Then again, you’ve never heard of a monster staying  _ half _ -colorblind. It’s usually an all-or-nothing deal, as far as you know. You chew on the thought for a moment longer, but when Sans doesn’t say any more, you know he’s giving you the opportunity to push it.

And you know your brother. If he didn’t want you to push, he wouldn’t have brought it up.

So you push.

“That’s not normal, brother.”

“nope.”

You peer down at him, regretting it the moment you catch the glint of tears pooling in his eyesockets. His voice is still steady, and though you can almost predict the trembling of his hands, you know he’s currently forcing them still. He doesn’t want you to see him break, even when you’re too close not to.

The tension in the room is stretched taut as you open your mouth.

“...Who is your soulmate, Sans?”

Before Sans can react, the television screen in front of you cuts off, and you’re plunged into relative darkness. Your immediate thought, beyond surprise, is that the power must’ve gone out. But no, you can still hear the hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the buzz of the nightlight upstairs. It’s hard to pick out, though, muffled by the blaring static of the tele—

The television.

You feel your own naturally-dormant eyelights spring to life. They’re pinned on the television against the wall, and though you’re paralyzed, you can’t feel your bones at all, there’s a frantic rattling noise sounding just beneath the static.

The static coming from the television that’s  _ not on. _

“it’s alright.” You’re startled but mostly relieved when Sans’ voice cuts through the noise. In your fear, you’d almost forgotten he was there too. “he does this sometimes, when i— when the subject comes up.”

On some foreign impulse, you have to clamp your jaw shut to keep yourself from laughing out of nerves or hysterics or  _ whatever _ , because—

“Who is  _ he _ ?”

Sans isn’t given time to respond. The static is interrupted by a noise from underneath, something deep and crackling and blistering with incomprehensible sounds. Sans makes a pained noise— a laugh?— and the static bursts as if in response. 

“he’s not— here. it’s, uh. it’s complicated.”

“I—” You can’t get the words out, because there’s something in the static reverberating through the room, crying to be heard. It’s getting louder, you realize. “I don’t—” Since when do you have to shout to hear your own voice? “Sans, I don’t understand!”

Sans doesn’t respond. You watch as your older brother tilts his head to the ceiling, falling still. He didn’t hear you— instead, he’s listening. Just listening.

“Sans,” you say, because you’ve been through hell and back with the resets but you can’t make it through them without your brother and right now he looks weightless, he looks like he’s not here with you, and it’s stupid but the expression on his face is  _ scaring _ you. “Sans, please!”

And then, just like that, the static cuts out.

Your skull aches in the sudden silence, still ringing from the sheer volume of before. You blink a few times to regain your bearings, and when you’ve finally focused enough to see what’s in front of your face, you catch the expression on Sans’ face.

He’s crying, tears flashing in the light now emanating from the tv again. His eyesockets are gaping holes exposing the stark shadows in his skull, no eyelights in sight. He’s just sitting next to you, staring up at the ceiling. 

A pang of fear, familiar enough to you since you were a young, pushes you to make sure he’s still alive, that he hasn’t Fallen Down. You reach for one of his wrists, and with your touch, he stirs with a jolt.

“Well,” you begin, trying to get your nerves to stop quivering and your breath to normalize. You simultaneously feel like you’re mid-spar with Undyne and only a few HP away from dusting. “That was new.”

Sans coughs, a strangled noise escaping his teeth. You think it was probably supposed to be a laugh, but you’re not surprised at all as he suddenly crumples against you, face pressed in the nook between your battle body and shoulder pad. He’s shaking harder than you are now, his body wracking with violent sobs. Distantly, you feel your own arms pulling him closer, rubbing circles onto his back, whispering quiet platitudes you’re certain he doesn’t hear. You don’t hear them yourself, with how fast your thoughts are buzzing in your head.

None of it makes sense. Monsters aren’t supposed to retain colorblindness after they’d met their soulmate— it’s simple, permanent. As soon as you meet your soulmate, you see color. That’s it. There was no way you it could go half-way unless— unless—

You freeze. In his throes of emotion, Sans doesn’t even notice.

...Could the resets be responsible?

As far as you know, for the duration of the human’s control over the resets, there haven’t been any colorblind monsters who have met their soulmates. You hadn’t known of any colorblind monsters who met their soulmates back when Flowey was in control of the resets, either. Surely, some monsters had to have been introduced to the world of color, but you don’t know anyone personally.

More importantly, you don’t know anyone who would remember.

If time really was being reset, the timelines diverting and crashing into one another and ending over and over and over again, that would mean that any monster who meets their soulmate in that time would just go back to being colorblind after the reset. And then they’d meet their soulmate. Then they’d forget. Over and over and over again.

Colorblindness was an internal trait, a state of the soul. A monster’s soul would never forget meeting their soulmate, even if their memory failed them. Sans’ soul wouldn’t forget so easily, not to mention that that static…  _ thing _ , that wasn’t normal at all, but it doesn’t seem timeline-related. The resets can’t be part of it. The resets aren’t to blame.

That thought should comfort you, that for once this hell isn’t causing your brother even more pain, but it just makes you uneasy. Whatever was in that static—  _ whoever _ was in that static— you don’t even know what to think of that. Plain and simple, you have no idea what the hell is going on. And the only person with an explanation is sobbing into your shoulder at the moment.

Correction:  _ was _ sobbing. With as long as you’ve been lost in thought, Sans seems to have calmed himself down to a reasonable degree, still clutching your battle body like a lifeline, but no longer crying incoherently. He’s still pressing his skull into your chest, and with a wince you realize it’s partially why you’re struggling to breathe.

“sorry.”

“It’s alright, brother. It’s alright.”

“ugh. heh. you’d think i’d be used to it by now.” He shifts his face to the side, releasing a bit of the pressure on your chest. But still, you don’t say anything. What he shares now is his own choice. “haven’t seen him in a long time. longer than i thought. heh. sorry for the, uh. the waterworks.”

You have to stop yourself from doing a double-take. You thought he was talking about the cacophony of noise just a few minutes ago— you weren’t expecting him to be apologizing for crying, of all things. It pains you more than you’d like to admit that in retrospect, that’s far truer to your brother’s character.

“Are you alright?” You ask. Then, before Sans can respond, you add quietly, “please don’t lie.”

His permagrin slides sideways in a sardonic perversion of a smile, but at least he’s not masking anything. He’s fiddling with the fabric of your battle body, refusing to look you in the sockets. “dunno. i will be. probably.”

You watch him for a long moment, unsure of what you’re looking for. Then you nod. It’s been a very long time since you’ve had such a close moment with your brother— it’s not like you avoid each other during the resets, but even before all of the time shenanigans, Sans has always been averse to any sort of  _ vulnerability _ . It’s only at this moment that you start to think that might be due to the obvious… complications with his soulmate.

You open your mouth, preparing yourself for whatever question you’ll impulsively deem most important, when Sans reaches over you for the remote and switches the tv off. You hadn’t noticed it was still on, the static not dissipated but rather lowered to a calmer volume. Despite the way you instinctively tense, the static stops as soon as the screen shuts off.

Darkness envelopes the room again, and through the subsequent quiet, Sans murmurs, “it’s rude to talk about someone who’s listening.” And damn, if that doesn’t just set your soul on edge. 

All at once, you think you’re starting to realize just how far out of your depth this whole situation has put you in. This may be your brother, someone you know as well as you know the outcome of nearly every timeline down here— but it’s a side of him you’re not familiar with. It’s a part of his life you’ve never been privy to.

(The resets are kind, in a way, preparing you for every situation plus an extra trial run. Right now, your brother’s eyelights are the only thing you can glimpse in the darkness of your living room and you have  _ no idea _ what you’re doing.)

But that’s your reset-paranoia talking. You know it is. Because there’s an urge beneath your fear and anxiety and hesitation, a  _ need _ underneath it all, to make your brother feel better. And that’s all that you need. That’s all that matters.

You pull Sans closer against you and ask him what happened.

And he tells you.

* * *


End file.
